


Cybird Creative Challenge one-shots

by FaustLies



Series: Cybird Creative Challenge [1]
Category: Cybird - Fandom, イケメンヴァンパイア | Ikemen Vampire (Visual Novel), イケメン革命アリスと恋の魔法 | Ikemen Revolution: Love & Magic in Wonderland (Visual Novel)
Genre: Characters TBA - Freeform, Cybird Creative Challenge, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaustLies/pseuds/FaustLies
Summary: A collection of one-shots for the Cybird Creative Challenge.I will try to vary the ships and characters, but I will likely stay within the IkeRev and IkeVamp range because those are the Cybird games I have played multiple routes of and am most familiar with.
Relationships: Edgar Bright/Luka Clemence, Isaac Newton (Ikemen Vampire)/Reader, Jonah Clemence/Main Character, Kyle Ash/Main Character, Loki Genetta/Main Character, Ray Blackwell/Fenrir Godspeed, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Ikemen Vampire)/Reader
Series: Cybird Creative Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741864
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	1. Firsts: Edgar/Luka

**Author's Note:**

> Luka on meeting Edgar for the first time.

The first time I saw him, he was ditching class on the rooftop. I couldn't blame him, though; I was doing the same thing. His eyes seemed to wander over me for a few moments, as if wondering what I saw doing and why I was there. They glittered with a kind of sadness, which he didn't seem quite ready to share. Maybe that's why his expression seemed to dismiss me. I knew who he was, and he knew who I was, although we had never spoken. As the second Clemence brother, I had never had the chance to. It seemed as though I may be dismissed by everyone, including him. I only knew who he was because he looked the part. He _looked_ like a Bright. 

But that first time I saw him, I had not expected him to be so beautiful. Those sad eyes, jaded in more than just colour. There was a delicate sadness in his gaze, one I recognised as a loneliness like mine. His hair was a light brown, one that I might make in a tiramisu or a cinnamon cake, and his slender features gave me an impression that if not for his soft expression, he might seem more intimidating than he already is. He'll make a good leader when we're older, he looks like an officer. My heart wouldn't settle, and I had never felt anything like this before. It was the feeling that most people had ascribed to the infatuation one should feel with a woman. 

So, yes, that first time I saw Edgar, I didn't quite know what to say.

But I didn't have to.

"Not going to class?" He asked, taking the first words with eyes that watched me in some form assessment. He seemed to be having thoughts that he wasn't quite sharing with me. I couldn't understand why he would speak to me.

I stammered out some words. "I'd rather not." Maybe if I look away, he'll stop giving me that look. I took a few steps and looked off of the edge of the roof.

He let out a small chuckle and stepped to my side. "What is the quiet Luka Clemence doing skipping class? And on the second week of school, too." He pried. I looked over at him and straightened my posture. We were about the same height. Less intimidating, I thought.

"I'd rather not." I repeated. "It's wasted on me anyway, isn't it? I'm just going to join the army as soon as I'm out of school." I turned away from him, and stared off at the ground again. He made another sound, this time from his throat. More like a 'hmm' then anything else. Agreement, perhaps considering the idea. He grabbed the railing, right beside my hand. I found myself watching that hand, his index finger raising itself and lowering again in a slow tapping motion as he found words.

"That's not true." His head lowered, as mine was. "You're the second in line, and, if anything were to happen to your brother, then you would have to take his place." I turned to him and watched his expression twist with a kind of anguish, and I wondered if it was true, what I had heard.

Jonah had once told me that it was a family secret, that a very long time ago the Jack of Hearts had tried to kill the King and Queen, and as punishment would serve to finish any dirty business they had needed done. I never believed him, even when he insisted that it were true. I never gave it much credence, because the idea seemed so cruel that the idea of forcing another to kill on your own behalf was too terrible of a thing to confront, and Jonah would have to fill that position one day. There was no way for it to be true. But, as I watched Edgar in silence, with that beautiful face holding so much sadness behind it so obviously, it seemed more likely. It sickened me to think that my family had done such a thing to his, forced such a terrible thing upon someone who didn't seem to deserve any of it.

"Maybe so." I stared at him with a sudden urge to make him happy. It broke my heart to him sad, and to see him so lonely. I felt drawn to the stranger in front of me. "But birthplace isn't something that I want to care about." Edgar scoffed. Was that the wrong thing to say?

"It wouldn't, to you." Definitely the wrong thing.

"No, it's not that, Edgar It's just..." I struggled to recover my words. He slipped his hand off the railing and stared directly into my eyes.

"I know, Luka." He wasn't dismissing it, but maybe it wasn't the best thing to talk about. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking.

"I'm sorry." It came out of my mouth without thinking, and I looked down at the ground to avoid that cold expression on his face. There was silence, and it seemed to deafen me. I intently stared at his shoes, perfectly polished. New. I closed my eyes, and then there was sound again.

Laughter.

I blinked my eyes open and peered but up, and that expression held the most encapsulating smile I had ever seen. It was the first time I had so freely been given a laugh by anyone other than my brother. His laugh was so clear, so innocently happy. I seemed like it didn't fit the same blooding individual who had stood in front of me a few moments before.

"I'm going to like your company very much." He spoke through laughter. His expression had softened, but in a different way. A way that justified the smile that slipped onto my face, the rapid beating of my heart. "Luka Clemence." The name slipped from his mouth, and my eyes didn't want to leave him. His smile seemed so soft

"I hope to see you here many times too, Edgar Bright." He felt easy. I knew we could be good friends, as long as he didn't find out those small thoughts in the back of my head.

"The class time is still early, let's talk a bit." He wandered back over to the wall, leaning against it. "Come on, let's sit. Or, would you rather keep staring at me with that look?" He teased.

So that first time we met, on that rooftop, I knew. I knew that it would be very much far from the last time we would ever speak. I didn't know how far we would go, how much I would have to hide to not scare him away, and how much we had to hide to stay close together. I din't know, at that moment, that the first time I went up to that rooftop, that I would have my heart become so heavily affected by the future Jack of Hearts, Edgar Bright.


	2. Wild: Arthur/MC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective work leads Arthur and his assistant out into the woods on a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some spoilers for Arthur's route included, from early chapters.

"Arthur, please take care not to trip on the branches." She called back to me. I watched her step cautiously over the winding branches, deep in the woods, absolutely insistent that she knew where she was headed. 

"You're the more likely to slip, m'dear". I teased. She turned back with a halt, about to say something. She, however, stumbled on her own feet and almost fell to the ground right there. Oh, what fun little skirt to tease. I caught her hand and pulled her close. "If you do slip," my hand pushed a tuft of hair which had slipped behind her ear, "be careful not to bleed." As my head dipped to her neck, her hand pushed lightly on my chest. 

"That's enough, Arthur." My grip on her hand loosened, and she pulled it back. Her eyebrows were creased, and her eyes stammered around my face. I pulled away from her in recognition of the sight. She was scared of me, still. 

In another case, I would have told her _you can never have enough_ , but that look of fear had become something that I was no longer fond of from her. She had been here for two weeks, and though fun to tease, I could tell the idea of being a vampire still unnerved her. And in some twist of fate, I didn't want that. There was still our bet, the one in which whoever kisses who first loses our game. It had been more than a game, in my truth; a way to keep her away. She seemed to be playing very well. I, on the other hand, was most certainly losing.

So, instead of retorting, I continued to follow the path of wherever we were headed.

She led me to a small house, stepping to the side.

"As much as I love a curious case, this is most certainly not where I had expected to be led." He mused. "What is your reasoning?" My curiosity had peaked.

"You are familiar with Grimm's Fairytales, are you not?" She asked. I nodded. "Well, in the story of Hansel and Gretel, story, the children found a house in the woods and left a trail. I suspect that the kidnapper did something similar to be able to find this house. The roots of the trees on the ground had scuff marks." She stared at the house.

"As sound of a theory as that may be, in this time those stories have not yet been written." Even as I spoke, the words didn't seem to fit. "Though, you may have a point."

"You own words, Arthur, 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth'. The Grimm's only recorded folktales, they didn't write them all. It is entirely possible that a German man, who could know the story, could end up in France and commit such a crime."

Oh, she's quite clever now, isn't she? "Indeed, it could be true." I concede. She stares at the house, not speaking. She looks uncertain, maybe nervous. "A fan of fairytales now, are you?" I want her to relax, and maybe if I ask her some questions, she'll become distracted.

"They were a childhood favourite of mine." She confesses. I watch her for a moment. Her eyes have not switched from their position, her expression unchanged too. I don't want to physically upset her, as I had before with my teasing.

"Is _La Belle et la Bête_ a familiar tale in your time?" I ask, beginning to move toward the house.

"The beauty and the beast? Yes, it is quite a popular story. Perhaps a favourite of mine." She looks over at me. "Why do you ask?" Now she's walking slowly with me. It seems to be working. I begin to look around for hints, hints of the man or children. _The fireplace is still smoking. Someone either just left or is still here._

"Our situation is kind of like that, is it not?" I tease. The instinct can't help itself. "I'm sure you must consider the vampire to be a beast, and I have made it no secret that I consider you to be rather pleasant on the eyes." Her cheeks flushed, though not obviously from the compliment. It seemed to be something else, maybe another thought through her mind. _Crumbs on the floor_

She looked over me for a few moments, seemingly unsure what to think. I opened the door of the house and she followed behind me, both of us walking slowly. She grabbed the hem of my jacket sleeve in the same fearful manner she had done on a few other cases. It wasn't a bother, for as long as she felt same in her false protections, we could proceed. As long as I was making her feel safe, she would trust me. "The beast in the story has a good heart despite having the appearance of a monster. It is quite the opposite of you. I don't think any true love will fix your heart." Her bold words struck me, and I turned back to look down towards her. 

"Does she change his appearance in your versions?" I ask curiously. _Wet footstep on the ground, indicating the presence of a child._

"Oh, that's right. He doesn't change in the original. He stays a beast, doesn't he?" She looks over with a peculiar expression, and I can tell she is processing another unspoken thought. She doesn't feel any need to hide how she feels, does she? "But I suppose if the beauty doesn't mind that, then there's not a problem with it. After all, even though..." He words trail off for a moment in hesitation, and her cheeks turn a pink again. This time, it _is_ from being flustered. She turns away, and proceeds with her thoughts, "Even though you are quite attractive, which you must already be aware of, being a beast isn't the problem."

"Oh, isn't it?" The words leave me before the thought processes in my mind. I clear my throat and continue my search for clues. "You don't mind that I'm a vampire?"

She is silent for a few moments, and though I am busy looking at the ceiling boards, I can feel her hesitation. _There's sound coming from the walls_. A gasp is heard, and I turn back around.

"Arthur! Over here." She pulls a paining off of he wall and reveals a door handle. She incautiously pulls the handle, and out comes another man with a knife. He heads straight for her, pinning her against the wall with the blade to her collar, hovering over her breasts, maybe where the man might assume a heart would be. She lets out a sound, a cry. The man looks crazed, eyes blazing with some kind of madness. I have to assess the situation, fast.

I raise my hands in defeat as I approach the man, careful. He has the shoe size of the prints left in the kidnapped children's room, and the same hair colour. It has to be him. "Alright, alright.'

"I'm gonna kill her if you don't get out of here." His voice sounds uneven, deranged. The bags under his eyes makes it seem like he hasn't slept in days. He isn't well-kept. 

"No, you can kill me instead. I'm offering. Let her go and I'll stay."

"Arthur, no!" Ah, just like her, always so willing to sacrifice herself. The man let the knife drop to rest between her breasts, and she made another sound. I stared at her.

" _You_ shut up, or I'll slice your throat and feed your flesh to the dogs." She opened her mouth in shock, taken aback. She looked more offended than scared, and as the man turned to me, she stared at the knife. I looked at him, and from the edge of my vision, I could see her thinking, assessing what to do.

"That's barely a way to talk to a lady." He didn't seem to appreciate my words by the scowl on his face. "Alright, let's talk then."

"You should leave before your little girlfriend here get's hurt."

She opens her mouth to say it, _I am not his girlfriend, thank you very much_ , but she quickly decides against it. A wise choice, I note to myself. I hear the children crying behind the wall, behind her back. It agitates her.

"I'll leave with the children, or not at a-" She pulls the knife away, slicing her collar ever so much in sacrifice of attacking the man. I quickly get by her side, pushing the man down despite the smell of blood intoxicating me. _Her blood_. It drops drop her neck onto the ground, and I smell it even as she races into the other room, giving me some instruction I don't hear as I attempt to force that energy pulsing through me into holding the man down. _Grab the rope, then you can have her_. No, I can't have her actually, because she's not mine. 

When she returned with the untied children, weakly stumbling beside her, I had the man tied up and on the ground.

"You're good with rope, though I'm sure you've had plenty of experience." She joked lightly. I stood up, eyes fixed on the blood dripping from her collarbone. Her smile quickly wiped from her face as the recognition sweeped over her. I would have followed the tease any other time, but not when I wanted

_You don't mind that I'm a vampire?_

I had asked her in a moment where I thought she might confess how she felt, a moment which was in an attempt to keep her relaxed. My deepest desires were rising, and I wanted to pounce on her like a wild animal. instead, now all I could think about was pulling her to the other room, away from the children, and...

No, no. I needed to get out of here. I can't hurt her.

"I'm going to bring the other investigators here to escort them away. I'll be back with them soon." I left out the door as soon as I could, and I rushed through the woods, glad that there was a trail of scuff marks on the branches. 

I needed to be fast.

When I returned to the location, having been brought back with the two carriages circling to the closest opening available to the house, the sky had an early twilight hovering over land. Inside, as we approached, I heard my lovely assistant talking to the children. I listened for a moment. "... and Beast, even appearing scary on the outside, had a kind heart, and so when Beauty kissed him, he knew he would be happy forever, and they would live..." I chose the moment the final three words were spoken from her mouth, wanting to see the expression on her face, to know if she _does_ care about me the way I do for her.

As I entered the room, she locked eyes with me. "...happily ever after. The end." Her gaze lingered for a moment, but she smiled at the children and stood up. A man who had been brought with us, the children's father, rushed to reunite with them, tearful and happy. 

My gaze still rested on her, even as she wandered to my side, clinging to it from tiredness and happiness and lethargic emotion. Even as we were thanked, even as the officers took away the man and the father took their children, even as we were left alone to walk back to the mansion despite being offered, my mind rested on one question.

She and I were walking back to the city of Paris when she stopped me. "Arthur, are you alright?" 

The light of the half-moon was shining through the trees, directly onto her face, her body. The cut was still on her neck, the blood dried. My eyes wandered over it for a moment, then away. "Perfectly."

"Liar." She grabbed my hand. "Is it about what happened before?" I attempted to control every feature on my face to not give it away, but it was too late. "Ah, it is, isn't it? Well, I suppose it's time to answer your question, then. It would be rude to keep you waiting any more than this." Was she really about to answer it? The question on my mind.

She stepped closer to me and took my other hand. staring up at me with a calm expression, one of peace. Her body heat felt warm, so close to me. So _alive_. It wasn't as though I could forget her belonging as a human, but the fact of her belonging to another time was the factor that most upset me. Even though she was weaker, more vulnerable, unprotected from anything; The fact that I could have drank her blood in that room, acting like a wild animal and hurting her, and she could not defend herself. It worried me.

"You wanted to know if I minded that you're a vampire. So, here's my honest answer. I know that you could kill me any moment, and that you must think about it all the time. You've already proved that you will drink my blood, you already did that first night I was here. So do I mind? I mind in the sense that it's something that I think about it, I think about what it implies. But, you don't scare me, and today you proved that I have less of a reason to _be_ scared of you." Her eyes wandered mine, to see if I was following. "You proved that you can control yourself when you need to. That you wouldn't hurt me."

"I thought about it." I couldn't hold it back. I lifted one of my hands and ran it over her neck, down to the cut. The dried blood on her skin captured the light. "I thought about drinking your blood like a wild animal, all the things I wanted to do, if the chances would allow for it and if you had let me." The confession felt more intimate than I usually allowed myself to be, like I would scare her again.

"That proves that you don't want to hurt me, and so I don't mind." She stepped closer, almost as if inviting me to lose our bet. "I don't mind that you're a vampire, if you don't mind me being a human." She reached up and stroked my cheek with her soft hand. I placed a hand over her waist and pulled her closer. 

"I don't mind." Her eyes flickered over mine.

And she kissed me. It was a surprise, but one I was not about to reject. The moment was a fleeting one of passion, of a peaceful night. Of love, actual love.

And yes, there was a lot to think about. The bet was over, and she felt the same way I did. There were complications that we had to sort out, and love we had to make, and figuring out how this would work, but it would be overcome.

So, as we headed back through Paris, towards the mansion, we both knew the real game had only just begun. The wild night, too.


	3. Enchanted: FenRay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that event where Oliver sprayed the group with something and it turned out to be an Aphrodisiac? Yeah, it's like that.

Fenrir and Ray walked into the atmosphere of the Bar Oasis, quietly slipping into a booth near the back as to ensure that their meeting would not be disrupted too much by the doting public. Fenrir, who had been distracted by something in the distance, was pulled by Ray into the place next to him, the Black Army leader laughing as he did. He looked over at the pink-haired fiend beside him, who was already about to run his mouth off about something.

"Hey boss, they've got some good drinks here if you wanna try them." He shifts his eyes from the bar over toward Ray, who holds a placid expression over his face.

"We're here on business. Once we talk to Oliver-"

Oliver, as if summoned by magic crystals in something of a curse from Ray's words, slips into the booth with something in his hand. "I'll order a round. What do you two want?" He asks. Fenrir looks over at Ray with a playful expression that says "lighten up" and he can never resist such a face. Ray lets out a quiet sigh and before he even speaks, Fenrir orders for both of them. Oliver gives a quiet nod and slips back out of the booth, over toward the barkeepers. 

Fenrir smiles over at Ray. That same smile that has always made him want to run his fingers...

"It's not like you to be so tense all the time." The Ace of Spades' smile slipped from his face a little. "I look away for one second and you'll overwork yourself, I swear." He reached over and ruffled his boss' hair. Instead of trying to justify his stinginess, Ray just gave him a smile.

"Well, one of us has to be sober enough to remember what Oliver says."

"Hey! If either of us is the lightweight it's you!" Fenrir laughs, that grin that everyone loves right back on his face. Ray leans back and watches him in admiration.

"You're on." He says. The Ace's grin turns mischievous.

"Oh, this is going to be fun." He agrees, and an unamused Oliver slips back into the booth across from them with their drinks. He slides the tankards over to the two.

"When you two are ready?" The Mad Hatter sips on his drink, acting strangely polite in contrast to the dismissive look on his face at the other two acting giddy. The smile dims itself on

Ray nodded, waving his had over the table. "Yeah yeah, we're ready. What've you got for us today?" He asked. Oliver moves the tankard away from his lips and places it on the table temporarily, taking out a small spray bottle. Ray's first thought is that it's perfume, but knowing that the inventions of the mad hatter would never be so trivial, he knew he was wrong. He took a sip of his own drink.

"What is it?" Fenrir waits for Oliver to slide it across the table before he picks it up to examine it. The bottle appears like a regular spray bottle, and the pink-haired man's eyebrows crease with confusion. 

The inventor taps his fingers on the table. "I've created a formula which should be able to subdue any criminal you encounter, with just one spray."

"How does it work?" Fenrir asks enthusiastically, pointing it as if to fire it across at Ray for one moment then drawing it back to himself. 

"Even a moron would be able to figure it out. As with any sort of spray bottle, you press down the-"

'No," Ray interjects through a small bout of laughter, "He's asking how the formula stops the criminals." Fenrir nods to this with an inaudible mumble, bringing the spray nozzle to his nose in an attempt to smell the formula. Once he brings it down from his nose, Oliver takes the bottle from his hands.

He shakes it lightly. "What you do is, you take the bottle from wherever you keep it on you, and when you spray it on the criminal, it should take away their violent intentions." He himself peers down at the bottle. "That is, according to my formula." He clears his throat. "They should become weaker and more inclined to not resist." He taps the bottle on the counter, as if a nervous action, before lifting it again and aiming it at Fenrir. "Would you like to try it?" He asks.

"You do." Fenrir took a long drink from his cup. "Go right ahead, both of us." He insisted. The man across from them looked over at Ray for approval and, with a slight nod to suggest positive permissions, he spray both of them with the formula.

He waited a few moments.

And a few more. He sipped his drink as the two checked themselves.

"Well, how do you feel?" He further pestered. Fenrir stared down at his twisting hands, scanning himself for a reaction. Ray did the same before the two Black army leaders looked at each other, then over toward Oliver.

"I got nothin'." Fenrir shrugged, looking down at the bottle. The mad hatter's face twisted, and he looked over to Ray for the support of evidence against his formula.

"I don't feel any different either." He gave a small shrug, confirming the lack of response. "Sorry, Oliver." He drank from his own tankard, draining the last few drops. He didn't usually go out to places like this, so he enjoyed the light atmosphere of the relaxing bar. The private booth was enough separation between him and the public for him to not be overwhelmed by the friendly and too-friendly Cradle citizens he sought to protect. 

"Hmm." Oliver stared down at the bottle, curiosity stemming through his features. "I must have gotten something wrong." He shakes his head, spraying it on himself as if to double check his suspicion. "Alright, I'll leave you two to your drinks. I better fix this up." He finishes his drink and slips from the booth, standing beside it for a moment as he stares at the bottle.

"Thanks for the round!" Fenrir grins. "Look forward to seeing the invention work." He insisted.

"Yeah, we'll see you soon, Oliver." Ray agreed. Oliver gave a small nod and a wave, saluting the two as he wandered into the night in an eager fever to fix his invention.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and Fenrir slipped into place across from Ray where Oliver was before. Ray, in his right mind, would have preferred him to be next to him, but being across for each other meant that he could watch Fenrir and see his expressions clearer, the happiness on his face with every enthusiastic, bubbly moment that seemed to arise. Fenrir was just _fun_. Ray loved every moment with him, even just as friends. As long as he could see that smile.

It was the main reason that he hadn't told him how he really felt. It was fine, he supposed, because he still loved the company, It wasn't the main thought on his mind all the time. It would just be better for those feelings to be resolved at some point, whether they just fizzle away or they get addressed. 

But again, he didn't want to lose the connection by making it awkward.

"You're still on." Fenrir reaffirmed, finishing his own drink. As he bounded away from the seats to get the next round. He's back sooner than Ray can think. Maybe he spaced out? "Drink up, boss." He insisted.

Ray takes a few sips of his drink, before he suddenly started to feel funny. Not drunk, he dismissed that idea right away. It wasn't possible, he could knock back at least four of these before feeling anything. He noticed the same thing across the table with Fenrir, as he drew away into himself a little bit. The two of them stared at each other or a few moments, both of their cheeks beginning to flush a light shade of pink. It suited Fenrir's already carmine-pink features, Ray thought.

"You alright, Fenny?" Ray asked, himself feeling strained. The Ace watched Ray with a mischievous smile.

"I could ask you the same, boss." He finished his drink in one go and watched Ray across the table. "You know, you look cute with the blush on your face." He teased. The sudden words made Ray's eyes widen in surprise, but his blush only deepened as he looked down at the table, almost as if to hide his face away.

"Pfft, I'm not blushing, you're the one who's pink all over." He insists.

Fenrir leans on the table, down slightly to catch Ray's eyes. "Then I guess we both know what this is." Ray only blushed harder as Fenrir reached across the table and lifted Ray's chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. "We should head back to headquarters." He insisted. The Black Army kind stood with a nod of agreement. Fenrir stood next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist, as if guiding him around the crowd of people who had chosen to visit the Bar Oasis on the Thursday night.

Successfully avoiding everyone Fenrir led Ray away from the main streets and around through to the quietest route back to headquarters, around the inner outskirts of black territory. Ray felt the rising accumulation of everything that he had been feeling for years all mustering itself into one feeling, an extreme heated passion in which he just wanted Fenrir to pull him away, press him against the wall...

But instead, he found himself pulling Fenrir close to him in a place where they wouldn't be spotted, a sudden inclination to just kiss him. He pressed Fenrir against the cold surface and ran a hand over his side, as waiting for approval. Fenrir closed the gap between them, pulling Ray close and to his lips in an unbridled passion for the other soldier. He lifted his hand into Ray's black hair, running his hands through it and tousling it between his fingers.

He pulled away from the kiss. "How long have you been holding that one in?" He teased his lips along Ray's, tempting him to take the bait and steal another.

"Too long." He moved to kiss Fenrir, but instead was swept to the wall, the two of the switching places. "I think the spray..." _There was something in the spray that made this feel so strong_.

"Mmm." The Ace of Spades hummed, pressing himself against Ray as he ran his fingers over the white shirt collar. "I know." He meets his lips with Ray's again, then moves down along his collar and to the nape of his neck. A moan escapes his lips as he moves into the heated feeling.

"Fenrir," Ray whimpers, "we're in public."

"You don't mind." He sucks lightly on the neck, and Ray can't help the soft moan from his lips. Fenrir pulls away, leaving another kiss on Ray's lips to linger. "But it would be far more comfortable in your bed." He tugs on Rays arm, as he begins to walk, and Ray follows closely next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Yes, it would."

The two wander through the streets to headquarters, Ray's face much redder than Fenrir's. Even as they walk through the headquarter gates, being instantly let through, Ray stumbled a little as Fenrir pulls him through the hallways and toward his room. They successfully avoided company, for the most part, and made it into the King's room. Ray closed the door, locking it behind him as Fenrir pressed him against it.

As he stared into those pink eyes, Ray wondered if it was only the aphrodisiac that had made Fenrir so intent on being so close, so attracted to him. Maybe this would end badly, but _god_ he wanted it. Fenrir seemed to detect the worry in his eyes and moved back slightly. 

"Ray?" He asked. running a hand over his cheek comfortingly. A look of worry sweeped over his expression. "Are you alright?" He asked, voice quieting slightly. Raywasn't sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Fenrir seemed to have something concerning him too, so maybe, he decided, he should try to ask him. But it didn't matter, because Fenrir was already talking again. "Okay so you know I'm all fun and games all the time, but I can tell you're worried and if it's because you think what's happening is just because of whatever was in the spray then you don't need to be worried. I really do like you." 

The relief seemed to sweep over Ray' face, but he smiled. "I wasn't worried, I'm just not sure how to tell you how I feel." He grinned.

"You're welcome to show me instead." Fenrir teased.

And that was enough for Ray to pull him over to the bed and pounce on him, tugging on his clothes and pressing himself against the pink-haired soldier beneath him. He let the small cries of pleasure escape from Fenrir's mouth in whimpers as he sucked on his neck, teasing along his collar as Fenrir unzipped his jacket, and pulled Fenrir's off over him. He tugged on the Ace's pants.

"You'd better take those guns out of your pocket so I can enjoy what else is there." He murmered close to his earlobe as he palmed Fenrir though his pants. Fenrir, failing to hold back his excitement in the sounds that escaped him, obeyed the order and slipped his hands into his pockets, pulling out his dual pistols and tossing them aside, safety lock on, before the king pressed his hands on Fenrir's wrists, pinning him down onto the bed as he teased down his chest, along his hip, down, down, down...

Outside, Seth and Luka heard the sounds of Ray's name being cried from a estranged voice which obviously belonged to Fenrir. Seth turned to Luka with a grin on his face. "You owe me drinks."

"I agreed with you that they'd get together eventually." Luka complained quietly, a light pink on his face due to hearing the sounds inside the room.

"You thought Ray would be the submissive one." Seth grinned. "I win."

Luka looked over at Seth with a quiet chuckle. "You win, you win." He resigned as the two walked away laughing.


	4. Dawn: Oliver/MC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver takes a commission for a hat from a woman, and realizes something about his life back in London as he falls in love with her, having to hide the fact that he's a child by day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's important to note before you read this that this idea is going to be a full story at some point in the future, but right now this is just for the challenge and I thought the idea was perfect for it, so here's what I can describe as more of a preview than anything else.

Dear Oliver,

A friend of mine had requested a hat from you, which was a lovely help for assisting his sleep issue.

As such, I have heard other lovely things about your hats, and so I thought to request one.

I work in the Civic Center, and with the upcoming war it would seem that everyone is quite gloomy

in the workplace. I want something that can brighten everyone's days here during this dark time.

More than this, I want them to feel at home. I have been separated from my family for quite a 

long time, and so I thought maybe something that feels homely could be incorporated into the 

design of the hat, as I know that many families have been split by the changes in territory because

of the developments of the war. I hope this request is not too strange to develop.

The commission price is no issue, I can pay you upon picking up the hat at any value you wish. I

have also written to you with the necessary measurements which I would expect you to require.

I've heard that you don't like to take letters for commissions, and so if a visit is necessary it would

have to be during the later evening after twilight. My apologies for such an intricacy of complication.

Much adieu,

Clara.

Dear Clara,

It is true that typically, I do not accept any offers through the format of a letter, however, I have 

decided that due to both the times and your line of work at the Civic Center, I will make an exception

just for you. I will have your hat ready in one week. Also due to your constant work hours, I may have

to have the hat delivered to you by an acquaintance, or otherwise arrange a meeting. 

Otherwise, it will not be an issue. Don't worry about the details, they can be figured out in time.

Regardless, I do typically require an in-person visit, however because of your letters I believe to have

a perfect impression of what you mean and what you would like.

You can pick up the hat in a week unless I write otherwise, and as such, if you cannot pick up the

hat then you may write me back with other details of how you would like the hat taken to you.

Sincerely,

Oliver Knight.

Oliver pushed his response letter into the envelope and stared at it for a moment as he wrote those elegant letters of her name over the paper. He thought about his words and walked into the other room, looking for that damned rabbit he lived with. He found him at the table, chewing idly on a carrot as he read over some papers. Record-keeping, he guessed.

"Blanc." He called out, trying to catch his attention. Blanc looked up from his papers and looked down from his seat, expecting the child Oliver to be beside him, but instead had to raise his eyes to the standing adult Oliver. 

"Is it that late already?" He asked, turning around to look outside of the front window. "It must be."

"Yes, yes. I have a letter for someone you work with. Clara?" He asks, waving the letter in front of him. Blanc took the letter form Oliver's hands. "Eek, don't get the smell of carrots on the paper!" Oliver snatched the letter back from him, sliding it across the table and sitting in front of it.

"Has she asked you for something?" He asked, watching the paper. "She's a rather peculiar girl, I'm sure her request suited your interests." Blanc bit into his carrot.

Oliver nodded. "Yes, she requested a hat. She didn't give me much to work with, so I don't know how to make it suit her." He complained.

Blanc nodded, looking off as if to recall her. "Well, if you come to the civic center tomorrow she will be there holding council tomorrow with the judge."

"What does she do, exactly?" He asks, ideas slipping through his mind as he tries to envision her.

"Well, her main role is the resource council leader, but she does also act as a judge on occasion too." He explains. "She's quite busy at the moment organizing how the provisions are going to work for citizens during the war; it's surprising that she had the time to write for a hat. Though, she is quite lovely..."

"Yes, alright, I'll go with you tomorrow." He resigned, leaving the letter on the table. Blanc found himself chuckling at the response as Oliver strode away

Oliver found himself, once lying in bed and facing the ceiling, thinking about the letter he had been sent. He wasn't sure, exactly, what led him to accepting the commission of the letter, and what exactly made him bring that letter outside of the workshop and into his own personal room. Maybe it was the smell of the letter, the light perfume which lingered on the paper, dispersing itself in the air around him. The sweet smell made him smile, and maybe for reasons he wouldn't like to admit. The smell was awfully familiar, something he had recalled from a long time ago, back to a time when he was miserable.

So, he fell asleep, ready to go to the Civic Center.

In the carriage on the way there, Oliver pouted as he stared out the window, the cloudy day frowning over him as they approached the civic center. Oliver found himself anxiously tapping the letter on his lap, which he had sprayed with his own cologne to mask potential carrot scent which found itself on the paper from the night before. Blanc was silently organizing papers in his lap in an attempt to finish work. 

When the carriage pulled up, Oliver found the Civic Center to be strangely quiet. Weren't there usually children being taught at this time of day, or were they early? Was it just a case of forgetting the days? Maybe he had been working for longer than he had anticipated.

In any case, he walked alongside Blanc into the Center, and to his avail, only a few children seemed to be there.

"Blanc, isn't it time for the children's schooling?" He asked, looking up toward him.

"Ah, you haven't heard? Because most people are being evacuated due to the start of the war within the next month, many of the adults and children can't make it here, so classes are much smaller." He stared at the small group of children, about 11, being taught by two adults in the corner of the main room. It made him feel uneasy, almost unwelcome. He couldn't blend in as much.

He didn't have anything to say in response, so he just kept on walking alongside him. They reached the decision's court hearing and slipped into the back of the room, a few of them looked toward Blanc as he entered, but most stayed with their attention. One woman's gaze lingered a little longer, particularly over Oliver, with creased eyebrows. She shook her head slightly and turned away.

Oliver stared at her, the features on her face seeming to resemble someone else. The longer his eyes rested on her, the more he felt a sense of recognition in her.

Blanc looked down at Oliver and followed his gaze. "You seem to have spotted Clara." Oliver was taken out of his focus and looked up toward Blanc, the words he had whispered registering late. The inventor stared at her more, realizing that indeed she had a nametag in front of her desk, a written brass plaque with her full name. 'Clara Antinea'. 

Yes, he had seen her before. It clicked in his head, unwelcome and jarring.

"She's not from Cradle." He whispers up.

"No, she's not. But you're not supposed to know that." Blanc whispered back, staring down at Oliver. "How do..."

"She's from London." He shoves the letter into his lap, standing up.

He stands up, hastily heading toward the exit. Blanc watches him carefully, noting how he must ask him later about whatever that was.

Oliver, though, heads straight back towards home. The whole time thinking about 'Clara'. He knew that he would have to explain to Blanc about this whole ordeal later, but right now he just wanted to go home and think about it all alone. He didn't want to share any of it, not how she had no reason to ever have come into Cradle, how she never should have even left the palace.

He didn't want to remember all of it, but he did.

And now he couldn't stop thinking about his unrequited pining for someone who he never could have, and how reaching for that very thing had caused such a rift between his father and him, how he couldn't even tell her because he would be _risking their reputation_ , the three words that daunted his life for so long that he never wanted to hear them again. But now, of course, the _royal_ fucking _duchess_ was right there, in Cradle, in the Civic Center, and somehow he had never seen her here before. How long had she been in cradle and they hadn't found each other? 

But then again, would she even remember him? There was a high probability that maybe she wouldn't even have thought about him since he went away.

The memories, though. They were hard, at least for him, to forget.

Between them, there had always been something there, something between them that they just could never have really shared. Oliver never confessed his feelings for her, and she had the courtesy to do the same, just letting them be close. It would always hold a pice of resentment in his heart that he could not have her, that he would be resigned to pining for eternity.

But then again, he found Cradle, and he hadn't thought about her much since he came here. Nothing in London seemed to be important to him anymore.

So when Blanc came through the door, asking plenty of questions, Oliver didn't know what to say except for the bare minimum.

And much more importantly, Oliver knew exactly what kind of hat to make her.

It had been the only project he had focused on for three entire days, but he had completed the hat faster than he had anticipated. It was only a matter of waiting for the end of the week which was daunting. It was fine, he told himself, because with each passing day he told himself to just focus on other things, don't think about it.

That didn't stop him from keeping the letter in his room, that smell of her still in the air as he slept. That didn't stop his dreams from having her presence be there, consistently nagging him of her existence.

More so, that didn't stop him from worrying about what she was doing in Cradle and why she was here. It took up too much of his thoughts.

Trying to work didn't help too much, not with her hat in the workshop on the bench, waiting for her just as he was.

It didn't make anyone less suspicious of him, either. Blanc had tried to talk to him numerous times about it, but he couldn't. Even his regulars had noticed something wrong with him. Loki didn't even try to be snarky when he had stopped by during the week. Even the cat could sense something off about him. He had only gone to the Bar Oasis once, because Kyle had asked him if he was feeling funny.

He tried to ignore what he felt for the entire week.

But then, in the late evening, on a day in which Blanc had come home far earlier than he assumed most people would, there was a knock at the door. Oliver could sense it, and yet he still hid from the door. Blanc answered it with a smile, and the hatter listened in from the hall to his workshop.

"Clara! How unusual to see you at such a time. Would you like to come in?" He asked. Oliver felt his heartbeat drop, and he swore to himself that if he had faded from existence in that moment he would accept it without struggle.

Of course, he hadn't been so lucky. "Ah, if you don't mind, that would be quite lovely." She hasn't changed, he thought.

"Would you like some tea?" Blanc asked. He asked.

"Oh, no thank you. I don't believe I'll be here for long." She spoke quietly.

"Ah, I see. What brings you here, miss Antinea?"

She clicked her heels on the floor. It was something that she had done when she was nervous, and Oliver listened to the sound with his heavy heartbeat thumping just as loud in some miscommunicated, unnerving beat. "Well, as remembered from the I'm here to pick up the hat I ordered from Mr. Knight." Her shoes tapped, and Oliver imagined her bouncing on her heels as she had always done.

"Ah, of course." Blanc agreed. Oliver heard footsteps approaching the hall and without thought he scrambled away from his spot, instead hiding behind the door, as quietly as he could.

Of course, it was only moments before he heard a knock on the door. "Oliver." He called out, softly. The hatter took a deep breath and opened the door, cautiously peering behind Blanc to check if she had followed him. Blanc lowered his voice to a whisper. "Clara is here." Blanc scanned Oliver, checking his reaction. Oliver seemed to be frozen. It was exactly what he had expected.

"Send her down." His words were cold to mask his nervousness. He moved away from the door, not bothering to close it as he headed over towards the workbench, sitting down in front of the hat.

He only had a few moments, he knew that, and he wondered what she would think of such a disorganized room. Then again, he had caught her numerous times in the palace, her room messier than any royal room should be, and each time she had merely joked in dismissal about some maids having to be paid extra.

But when he heard the door creek, and her face peered inside, he realized that he hadn't even thought about what to say. He was suddenly grateful that nightfall had dawned so early, so that she didn't have to see him as a child. "Clara." He stood up, as if in instinct to his orders from his life back in London. His words sounded more demeaning than he had hoped, though she didn't seem to mind as a smile swept over her face.

"Oliver Knight, it really is you." She rushed toward him, careful to avoid the surrounding boxes as she approached. She seemed to stop herself for one moment, just before him, before giving in to her instincts and wrapping her arms around him. She coddled her face into the nape of his neck as he wrapped his arms around her surprised at such a forward notion.

"What on earth are you doing in Cradle?" He asked, his voice almost crackling from all the anticipation he had felt for this moment.

"I'll have to ask you the same damn question, Oliver." She pulled away, eyes twinkling as though close to tears. "I was worried for you, Oliver, I... I thought you might have been killed." She looked away, taking his hand in hers. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Her voice wiltered.

"I..." Oliver was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to say. "It's not something I would expect you to understand." He had never heard her so openly upset, to the point of swearing even more so. "I'm sorry, Clara." He dropped down, again on instinct. "Really, I am."

He bowed his head, staring at her shoes. He heard a quiet sound from her lips, before she did something strange. She dropped down to her knees too. "I'm not royalty here, Oliver. You don't have to bow down so low to me." She pulled him towards her, leaning against the workbench. Oliver hesitated, wrapping and arm around her and pulling her to lean on him. There were some moments of silence between the two. "I suppose I should tell you why I'm here too, then, and should stop being such a hypocrite." She looked over at him, and he blinked a few times in surprise.

So, they headed into town, and upon her request, to the bar Oasis. In her won words, "They would both probably need something to settle their discomforts." and as such, they slid into a private booth away from most people. She was wearing the hat that he had made her, the color perfectly matching her eyes, perfectly settling with her as a whole. And, moreso than that, they got around to explaining why they were there.

"... So that's the story with me." Oliver explained, keeping out the part about being cursed to turn into a child. "But, you surely knew most of that already." 

"I never thought that such a thing would cause such a rift between you and your father." She grabbed his hand comfortingly from across the table. "I'm rather sorry. Really, if I had known then maybe..."

"It's alright, Clara. I'm more content here than I am in London." He spoke slowly, almost as if testing the waters. He wasn't sure if she had felt the same. "So, why are you here, exactly?"

She took a long drink from her tankard, then placed it down as if it were a delicate teacup. She seemed so oddly out of place in this tavern, it was hard to ignore. Nevertheless, Oliver didn't say anything. "Well, let's start from where our stories divulge. Once you left London, I became quite insistent, more than everyone but your father, that they find you. I ordered for search parties, the whole likes of it all. I even went out alone. Skipping over all those things that I'm sure you can probably guess - the upset, distancing myself from most people, becoming bored and disinterested in royal duties, almost being married off - Well, about, let's say, a year or so ago, I saw something strange in King's Square. Someone just appeared out of nowhere, as if having fallen from the sky or risen from the ground. It was bizarre. So I thought about it, and every night I left the palace and I sneaked out, checking that same point. I thought I would see something. I told myself I would give it a few weeks, and exactly 28 days later, on the full moon, I saw Blanc hurrying back to the area. And he dropped some stuff, so I thought hey, I should return it. And I started talking to him, and he was telling me all this peculiar stuff, and then he let me follow him into Cradle, and I was offered a spot at the Civic Center to hide my identity, and I came to thinking, 'this is the kind of place Oliver would love. He might be here.' and then I saw another council member wearing what looked like your hats, and I asked him, and here we are."

Oliver stared across at her, the entire rambling hitting through him. The whole picture seemed to fill itself in his head, and it all made so much sense to him.

"So, you came looking for me, and you ended up here?"

"Basically, yes." She reached across the booth and took his hand. "And it's so much better, because now I can tell you what I've wanted to say for years." She found herself smiling, and Oliver watched across, his entire body seeming to go into a kind of panic mode. It's a good thing, he thought, but at the same time, _she was about to say it._ He took a deep breath, as subtly as possible, and prepared himself to hear what she was going to say. "This whole time, Oliver, I have wanted you." She began. "And I knew that I could never say it, and I knew you felt the same way, and I just... I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. But now there's no disparage between us. Oliver, I really really care about you, and..." Her words trailed off.

"Clara." Oliver smiled, squeezing her hand. "Will you go out with me, or court me, or whatever you-"

"Yes." She smiled across from him, her yes flickering to her lips, a reminder of that one time...

And they spent the rest of the evening together, talking about their lives and what had happened, sharing moment together. But, of course, Oliver had walked her home before the sun rose, saying goodbye to her just before dawn. Because, you know, he couldn't tell her that he would become a child when they sun came up. He told her instead that the both had work to do early in the morning, and they couldn't spend that night together.

It seemed, in her words, that he was cursed 'like Cinderella at Midnight', and that the time of Dawn would become his enemy.


	5. Injured: An IkeVamp Crackfic. (MC/Sebastian, kinda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all got too serious, and I'm stressed already, so here's this little break from the mess.

It all started in the garden, where a clumsy Lilac was tending to the flowers. She was going about quietly, cutting the bushes to trim overgrowth with a giant, heavy pair of cutter sheers which Sebastian had practically shoved into her hands. So, here she was, with the dark cloudy sky looming over her ready to start dripping at any moment, as she stood on the steepest part of the hill, cutting away at the overgrown leaves. Any normal person would probably have sensed the danger, but her forehead still hurt from the wrath of Sebastian's flick, and so she continued away, cutting.

The moment it started to rain, everything quickly fell apart. She lifted her long skirt to climb up the hill, however somehow managed to slide further down, and even when she got to the top, somehow only then did she manage to trip over herself. She fell, grazing both of her knees and splitting the skin on some of the rocky ground. Not only this, but she had also dropped the hedge clippers on the ground and her hand landed onto it, which created a bleeding gash across her whole hand.

And, it was beginning to absolutely pour. 

She made a harsh cry in her throat from the immediate pain, letting the blood drip for a few moments before heading straight towards the mansion.

Ah, of course. Because the first thing you do when it's raining and you're bleeding, of course, is to go into the mansion of vampires right before mealtime. 

Nevertheless, what else could she do? So, she headed inside. And of course, as fate would have it, Arthur was walking right by. He instantly spotted the blood, likely smelling it even before that, and as she closed the door he was quick to descend upon her.

"Well, what do we have here?" She turned to face the grinning Arthur's words as he headed directly toward her. "Are you hurt, my dear?" He was backing her against the closed door, and she thought to open it. Arthur reached her before she could think about it more.

"Just a bit. I should really clean it up quickly, though, so if you'll excuse me-"

His arm against the wall blocked her path. "Trying to run won't help you very much." He took the wrist of her cut hand and lifted it to her face. "I could clean it up if you like." His eyes lingered over mine. "You really do smell so sweet."

"Arthur, I'm alright." She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't budge.

"Shh, I'm not going to drink from you, unless you do desire it." A smirk seemed to dance over his lips. "But you are quite lucky I found you first. The other's won't have such a courtesy. In fact, it is time for them to be in the dining room. They'll probably be here any moment." He teased, tightening the grip on her wrist. The pressure caused the blood to leave her faster, tricking from her hand and onto the ground in steady drips. He let a small laugh resound deeply within his throat. "But, this is going to turn into quite the fun little game, so if you were to ask my suggestion, I would say that you should start running before they find you." He let go of her hand, the sound of footsteps at a distance from the hall. "Don't make it too easy for them, if possible." He watched her under his gaze for a moment before she stepped aside him and began to hurry away. He looked at the blood which had dripped over his hand and onto the floor, the red blood still on his fingers. He pondered it for a moment, then lifted the fingers to his mouth. 

"Oh, she really is quite sweet." He let the taste linger on his tongue in satisfaction. "I could get used to that pretty little skirt."

Meanwhile, the rest of the mansion seemed to be erupting into chaos. Sebastian, who had been in the kitchen preparing dinner, had heard two sounds in consecutive action: The sound of the back door closing, very loudly, and the sound of shifting chairs in the dining room. He quickly abandoned the stove and headed into the next room, only to find Theo having pinned a struggling Issac to the table and Vincent staring at the door from his seat, shaking ever so much, as Napoleon stood in watch.

Sebastian stared at the situation for a moment. "Might somebody please explain-"

"Hondje." Theo looked over at Sebastian. "She's brought the smell of blood in with her from the garden. Must have somehow managed to cut herself. Knabbeltje..." His words became something of a mumble as he struggled to hold down Issac, who couldn't stand such a strong scent.

Sebastian looked across the room, then back to the kitchen, then toward Napoleon. "Master Napoleon, if you could manage the stove whilst I find Lilac..."

He walked right past Sebastian and into the kitchen, glad to have such a distraction from the blood. Hopefully the smell could take away the strong urge for blood.

Sebastian opened the door and seemingly on an instant, heard a scream. He turned to the direction and made his way down the hall at a brisk pace, turning the corner and spotting another altercation between Lilac, Mozart, and Jean. Jean, it appeared, was trying to get Mozart away from the scared girl in front of them, and Jean himself was seeming to slip control.

Mozart's words to Lilac were quiet, too quiet for Sebastian to hear from the short distance, but he could tell from the crimson cheeks over her face that they were most certainly attempts to coax her into the agreement of blood. He had lifted her hand toward his face, close to his mouth, seemingly tempted to taste it.

It had been the most peculiar thing he had seen Mozart ever do. He instinctively touched the journal in his back pocket, but when he caught Jean's eye, he instead rushed over toward Lilac. "Herr Mozart, please step away from the lady." The violet eyes still stared into hers plainly, almost as if not acknowledging Sebastian.

"You've done something quite disruptive." He looked over at Sebastian for the briefest of moments, then back to the girl. "You should lock yourself away before the others come. He warned, dropping her hand as if suddenly aware of the physical contact. He shut himself away again, rather quickly. "Go, quickly now." He insisted. The words were an order. Sebastian caught her arm and pulled her from Mozart, who had instead stepped closer to Jean, almost as if a comfort from the pain he much be feeling from the bloodlust.

He tugged her with him under she got her footing in pace to match the speed alongside him. "We're going straight to your room." He scanned over her as they paced quickly. "What happened to your hand?" 

"A little accident in the garden." She explained as he pulled her down a hall, away from the sound of footsteps. They seemed to stumble upon the right door, and Sebastian quickly unlocked it and pulled her inside.

"You can explain more after. I have to deal with the entire house of vampires." He looked down at her hand and her disheveled dress, and he shook his head. "That's going to be a pain to clean." He muttered to himself.

"Really not important right now." She turned away from him, slipping off the gardening apron from over her skirt. "Go, I'll stop the bleeding." 

"Stay out of trouble. Do not leave this room." He ordered, opening the door again and slipping out.

She stood in the room for a moment, trying to look for some sort of spare cloth in order to prevent more blood from leaking, mostly thinking 'How the hell do these idiots survive out in the real world?' Shuffling through a drawer of loose stuff, she found a strip of a dress that had been torn one day whilst doing something or other, and decided to try and wrap that around the wound. Or attempt to, because using one hand was quite a pain in the ass, to be frank. She let out a sigh of frustration as the makeshift bandage slipped from around her injury. Again. And again.

"I could help you with that." A voice sounded from behind her, and she tensed up again. Stiffly, she looked to her right, just behind her, and saw Dazai swinging through her window.

She stared at him for a moment, more dazed that anything else. Yeah, he was weird, but how much of a threat could he really be? Maybe... No, actually, because then again, why would he have seen her in her room.

"I'm alright, I've got it."

"It doesn't look that way." He stood idly at the window, a small smile on his face. He looked docile at best, surely he wouldn't attack her. 

"Alright." She held out her hand, the bleeding starting only now to stop. It needed to be sterilized, she thought, but maybe this time didn't have such a thing? She hadn't encountered such an injury. Maybe she would get infected and die from the cut. It seemed to become a thought that distracted her enough for Dazai to grab her hand and lick her hand. 

That snapped her out of it.

"No no, not you too." She stepped back away from him and toward the door. His face looked confused.

"But the wound needs to be cleaned first." His eyebrows furrowed inward slightly, and she relaxed a little.

"And you think that licking the wound is going to help that?"

"It gets the blood away." He insisted.

She stared at him idly for a moment, then shrugged in submissive resignment.

"Alright, fine. Don't make it weird." And she stuck out her hand again. And he picked it up again, licking the wound. He licked it, for a few moments, stopped, smiled, and started licking it again. She watched him for a few moments, and a few more. He seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much. Yeah, he made it weirder than it had to be. And he wasn't going to stop, was he? "Dazai?" She tried to move her hand away, but his grip tightened. There was only one thing she could do.

She yanked her hand away and noped the fuck out of her room. Why did she think that was a good idea? It wasn't. Now she had to find another room. If Sebastian was going to find her again, it would have to be somewhere he would look.

With a silent glace, Lilac headed into the main hall again, and hurried past the rooms. She knew that she would have to pass the room where everyone would likely be, but she figured that one momentary risk was better than making a stupid decision. The heard the commotion as she approached it, the scraping of chairs on the hardwood floor, and moment she stepped just slightly past the dining room, the door swung open. "Sir Newton!" Sebastian was yelling, and when she hurried forward and spun around, she caught a glimpse of the scientist's eyes. He was stopped though, right before her, his arm being pulled into the room presumably by Sebastian. "You mustn't..."

Lilac ran off as Issac's despairing voice responded to the restraint. She recalled Comte warning of Issac's condition toward blood, his abnormal lust for it, and more importantly right now was that she was noticing her bought time. She headed to her destination; Sebastian's room.

She closed the door behind her, locking it and leaning against it. She heard footsteps outside, like hungry wolves descending on their prey, and she sat in silence as she stared down at her licked, bloody hand.

Theo had been right all this time; She really was a knabbeltje, and an idiot. 

But soon enough, there was a sound of the door unlocking behind her. She covered her mouth with her uncut hand, stifling any surprised sound of worry which she would be inclined to release as cries into the room. She moved away from the door, and much to her gratitude, Sebastian walked through the door, closing and locking it quickly behind him. Without any word, he quickly headed over to the window and closed it too, shutting off all possible entries.

He turned, silently, to face Lilac. She felt herself ready to cry, and Sebastian's expressionless features didn't help that. He walked over to her and crouched before her, lifting his hand and flickering her on the forehead.

"Ow!" She cried out, detracting away from him and into the door more, "What was that for?!"

"As much as studying the effects of human blood upon the rest of the household is something that rather interests me, it's not something that I would take joy in when you're the one who is going to be harmed as a result." Sebastian's eyes flicker down to her hand. "Why are you in my room? I told you not to leave."

"I wasn't going to, but the window was open and Dazai decided to swing by." Her eyes narrowed at the memory.

There was a moment of silence where Sebastian seemed to acknowledge something mentally, but he quickly went back to interrogation, changing the subject. "So, you hurt yourself in the garden?"

"Evidently, yes." Her cheeks were flushed red. Maybe it was the embarrassment, maybe it was the scolding. "I wasn't sure if I should have stayed in the garden or-"

"Or run into a house of Vampires right at dinnertime? No, obviously you should endanger yourself as much as possible."

"It's raining!"

"Hypothermia is treatable, you can't replace blood if you have none." He sighed, taking her hand and pulling her up with him from the ground. He lifted her injured hand, then quickly released it. "Why is your hand so sticky? Surely that's not blood-"

"That was Dazai. He licked my hand." She explained.

"He what?"

"Yeah, I know." She conveniently left out most of the details so that she wouldn't get another flick on the forehead.

Sebastian let out a long, hard sigh. His eyes scanned over her, and he looked down at her hand, taking it once more for but a moment. "It's alright, let's get this cleaned up."

He released her hand and moved across the room towards his closet, taking out what appeared to be the equivalent of a 17th century first aid kit, which really consisted of just a bottle of alcohol, a stick for biting, and some cloth which would have to do for bandages. He pulled the chair from his desk, placing a bucket beside it. Lilac moved to sit on the chair, but he made a sound which told her to stop. Instead, he sat on the chair. He pulled her over his lap.

So, as to his orders, she was kneeled over his legs, her hand over the bucket to collect the alcohol which would be poured over her hand into the metal pale. He touched her injured hand, and held the stick-like object horizontal to her mouth. "This doesn't feel very appropriate, Sebastian." Her cheeks flushed at the thoughts in her head.

"My dear, being appropriate should never be your concern with me." He leaned down, lips close to her ear. "You know how strict my rules are, did you think you'd get away with causing this much trouble without punishment?" He waved the stick that was in front of her mouth. "If you weren't already in pain, I would spank you." His sultry voice muttered.

"You're welcome to." She responded, immediate and involuntary. Sebastian hummed deeply in his throat, a willing sound.

"I just might." He pressed the stick against her lips and kissed the back of her neck. "But first I have to fix up your wounds. Bite." He ordered, and she did.

He opened the alcohol bottle and gave a quiet countdown as he poured it over her hand, keeping her hand in place as she hissed in pain at the stinging feeling. It was cleaning the wound, at the very least. She bit into the stick as she let out a soft cry. Sebastian took a piece of the cloth and wiped her hand, careful to press lightly over the wound as he cleaned the entire mess of blood, alcohol and saliva.

"Good girl." He ran his hand down her spine as he grabbed the bandage cloth with his other one. He wrapped up the wound carefully, making sure not to suffocate her hand. Before she knew it, she was being lifted from her place on his lap and stood in front of him. "Now, any other wounds i should know about?"

She looked down to the floor, as if the situation wasn't already oversexualized enough. "It's... My legs. when I fell I hurt my knees. I think one may have been cut."

"You run awfully well for being cut." He stood up without warning, giving her no time to step away and have personal space. "Alright, dear." He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to sit on the bed, then moved back to the bucket to drape the dirty cloth over the edge and get a new one. "Now, lift up your skirt."

She stared at him briefly as she steadied herself on the bed, then nodded silently as she did what he asked. "Is this high enough?" She asked as the material had lifted just above her knees.

"Only for the moment." He smirked over her before kneeling down to observe the wounds.


	6. Wormhole: Issac/MC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MC misses home, and Issac is there to try and comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about it, and MC is Japanese, isn't she? So, I gave her a Japanese name this time. I usually stick with my defaults, but it's better to have variety.
> 
> More importantly, I've always had this little headcannon that sometimes Issac will go off on little tangents about things because he's awkward.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

With each passing day and night, Yumi found herself unable to give a real smile and unable to worry about missing home. She had gone through the portal once, but what if she couldn't pass back through it? The thought was not something that she relished in. Time was too unpredictable, too fickle to keep such a promise, wasn't it? Comte had told her that she would be alright, and that she could get through it again only in time. In had been a few days already, and she had seemingly distanced herself from the vampires as much as possible, keeping herself as busy as she could with the work that Sebastian gave. It wasn't enough, she felt. Every time she passed the door, she wondered if it would ever open.

When the night was cold and dark, and she was unable to sleep, she would find herself over at the door, sitting in front of it in questioning. Maybe she would never pass through it again, but nevertheless, it was the closest to home that she could be.

So she had to hope, didn't she?

The cold night not welcoming her into peaceful sleep. Hell, it wasn't allowing her any sleep at all, actually. It was not yet winter, and still the sheets were as cold as ice, and she thought that maybe her tears would turn to ice, so she stay silent and stared sadly and the ceiling. It wasn't going to help, she knew that. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and slipped on some shoes, heading over to her comfort.

The door wasn't going to talk to her, but that didn't matter much to her. She walked over to it and sat down on the floor in front of the looming wooden passage. It wasn't as beautiful as the sky, but it was something. She whispered to it quietly, as if there had been someone with her, and pulled her knees to her chest. "Maybe I worry too much. Maybe you will open again and I'm just being ridiculous." Her voice was quiet, but she was so focused on staring at the door that she didn't realise her surroundings. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her as she continued to talk to the door, to herself more so.

"Yumi?" The man behind her kept his voice just as quiet as to not startle her. She looked back at him in a startle. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes met his, and he could tell that she had been sobbing. "I'm fine." She turned back around.

Issac shook his head and sat down beside her. "You wouldn't be staring at this door and crying like that at a time like this if you were alright." He was careful not to look at her, not to upset her at all or be too outward for his own sake.

"I suppose not." She rested her head on her knees for a moment, then looked over at him. "You'll think I'm foolish if I tell you why."

Issac looked at her for only a moment, then back at the door. "You must be missing home." He rested his gaze down on the floor. "Is that why you look so sad?" He asked.

"Part of it." She lifted her head again and placed her hands where her head was, letting out a sigh. "Well, I might as well tell you." Her eyes wandered over to him.

"Go on." He insisted.

"Well," The gaze turned back to the door. "I know it might be a laughable thought, but what if the door doesn't open back up again? What if I can't go back through to my home? There's always the possibility that that could happen, isn't there?"

"That's what you're worried about?" The words came out of his mouth before he had expected them, an occurrence that was both extremely rare and possibly critical to the situation. Her head seemed to whip around in complete surprise, which he thought was maybe a product of offense. "No, let me clarify." He drew back into himself a bit and looked down at the ground again. "It's not something you should concern yourself with. It's not possible for the door to fail, as long as you're here at the right time and you're alive."

"How do you know?" She asked, voice soft and quiet as her head turned back away.

"Well," He hesitated for a moment. "From what I've figured out about the door, according to calculations I've made about gravity, the door should likely be something that is described in your current day to be a wormhole. Now, a wormhole should be something that created a division of the intake of mass and the subtraction of time in order to create a time loop and cause such a rift in the universe to allow this. It's why the full moon is when it opens, because the close moon has the sun at the right angle in order to not upset the balance and to instead create the perfect balance of gravity within the earth in order for you to travel back to your time and not to an earlier time. That wormhole is actively in place, but when the days change it sifts the amount of gravity, and if I am correct, the times that it would lead you to. Comte had never confirmed that this is how he seeks out all of the residents on different eras, thought I suspect this is how he does it." Issac looked over at Yumi and saw her watching him with glistening eyes. He recognised his rambling and cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, actually, the point is that in order for you to, um, not be able to return home, you would have to have a mass and gravity which is equal to zero, and so you would have to be dead." His eyes flickered back to her, and he saw a small smile.

She stared at him for a few breaths before swaying a little. "Thank you." She smiled.

"Thank... What?" He flushed a little bit, not quite sure why she was so happy to hear his digressions. 

"For that. For sharing your thoughts." Her smile radiated through him, and he couldn't help but have a small one of his own. "You don't usually get to tell people what you think, do you?"

"I suppose not." The voice that left him was quiet again, but happier than it had been. It was true that he rarely spoke about such things, and instead he mostly preferred to keep to himself.

The two of them stared at the door again, thinking about their own travels which it had brought for them. For Issac, it allowed him to study his passions for fervently and fully give himself to his science. He had learned more than he ever could in a singular lifetime, watched his knowledge spread through the scientific communities and be expanded upon, used for invention and for theory. It was a pleasure to see, but the consequence had been dire. The life he had to consume in order to stay alive, his more intense bloodlust than the others in the house leading to him having to hold back far more than any of the others, having to keep himself away from the outside unless teaching those children as he and Napoleon like to. She, well, didn't want to be here. She had no reason for entering this timeloop other than her own curiosity leading her down a strange path. It was something they shared, a string they had in common.

It wasn't the only one.

"I miss home too, sometimes." Issac's voice disrupted the silence they shared, but it wasn't unwelcome. She looked over toward him, quietly requesting him to expand upon his words. He seemed to shy away for a few more moments, staring at the ground again. Yumi waited for a few moments, and the moment she opened her mouth to speak he continued his thoughts. "It's not all too different. I don't have as much of a distance between my language or anything that the others have to deal with. You, too, I imagine. But, the time isn't the same. Customs are different. I don't leave the manor all too much for that very reason, because it's not a very fitting place for me to be." He shifted in his seat. "We're similar in that, I suppose. Little else, I'm sure, but in that..." His words trailed off.

Yumi smiled over at him. "A wormhole away from home. Surely you've been curious as to go to the modern world?" She inquired.

He shook his head. "It's not yet the place for me. It's not easy to come back through that door from the other side, since the location of the door varies. It's another problem with the intercollapsing mass of the wormhole, since the world is heliocentric..." His words stopped in their tracks unnaturally as though he wasn't finished talking. The silence felt filled with thoughts that weren't shared, maybe a memory that he wasn't quite willing to share with me. It wasn't quite a worry, either way. Yumi's eyes were growing heavy from the relaxing conversation.

"It's alright either way." She leaned against the wall. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with." Her smile was soft, not like the radiant ones that she would give off on an attempt to cheer herself up. 

He leaned against the wall with her, and the two talked about their lives until they grew tired, falling asleep right there in the hallway.


End file.
